


A Time to Weep

by SophieHatter



Series: 100 Kinks [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: #9 First Time, 100 kinks, Askbox Fic, Canonical Character Death, Comfort Sex, Episode: s08e18 Threads, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieHatter/pseuds/SophieHatter
Summary: 100 Kinks: 9. First TimeSam tucked herself into his embrace and let her sorrow bubble up and over, spilling it all into the safe space that was whatever it was that the two of them shared.Raw grief.





	A Time to Weep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3starJeneral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3starJeneral/gifts).



> Response to a Smut request from 3StarJeneral who is the most amazing podfic narrator and who can swear so beautifully that my toes tingle. 
> 
> 53\. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”
> 
> —-
> 
> This was supposed to be a ficlet. And then, suddenly, it was nearly 7k words long.

With a trembling hand, Sam knocked on his door. It was dark, very dark, with no lights on inside and the door too far from the street lamp to be illuminated. The moon had set hours ago and, yet, her feet had known the path to his door, just as surely as her body had driven her here while her mind whirled, a mess.

She was just considering knocking again when she heard shuffling steps in the hallway and the porch light switched on. There was a moment more of nothing, where she hoped Jack was putting his eye to the peephole, and then the door opened and he stood before her in sweats and an old tee, feet bare.

“Hey,” he greeted her gently, running a hand through his sleep mussed hair. “You want to come in?”

That tone, the soft knowing of her was what broke the little control she had left and Sam stepped into his arms and came apart.

His gentle hands held her as she sobbed into his shoulder and Jack took a moment to swing the door shut before coaxing Sam along the hall to the living room. He turned her until he could sit on the couch and then pulled her down into his lap, cradling her to his chest like a child.

Sam tucked herself into his embrace and let her sorrow bubble up and over, spilling it all into the safe space that was whatever it was that the two of them shared. His lips moved against her hair, saying nothing audible, just his low, soothing voice, the warmth of his breath and body surrounding her as his fingers slowly stroked against her back.

After a while, Jack’s leg began to go numb and the deluge of Sam’s pent up sorrow eased into a steady fall of rain, so they shifted, a bit at a time. Jack put his back into the corner of the couch, legs stretched out on the seat, Carter nestled between them, head pillowed on his chest, his fingers on her shoulder, occasionally straying to her hair.

“Thank you.” Sam’s voice sounded worn down to almost nothing, a gravelly sound wrought out of grief.

“Always,” Jack said, again, wishing she had let him take her home in the first place. He had seen the storm building and threatening to tear her apart. She had held together through the visits from the Tok’ra, had managed to keep on a steady keel when Malek suggested they take her father’s body back with them through the Gate. That was the point where Jack had stepped in and asked them for a few days to let Sam consult Mark, or anyone, or no one. Any excuse to give her time to reach a decision, to accept the inevitable, on her own terms.

And then Sam had gone home to Pete. That had been six hours ago. Now she was here, the cop’s ring still on her finger, but she had sought comfort in him and Jack wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever turn her away.

His tee was damp with tears and snot, but Sam didn’t seem to have noticed, although she seemed to be cried out, for now.

“The guest room is made up if you want to stay,” Jack suggested, thumb caressing the nape of her neck. “Or I could drive you home.”

Sam shook her head, winding her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, pressing her face into his chest.

“You don’t want to stay or you don’t want to go home?”

“You,” Sam said, lips moving against him, “Stay.”

Jack considered his options. He was not the type to take another’s fiancée to bed, but he and Sam had been bedding down beside each other in all kinds of conditions and arrangements for the past eight years. He figured he could control himself for one more night.

And if Sam would rather curl up beside him than one of Denver’s Finest, well, he would try to keep his smugness to a minimum.

“I won’t be able to walk in the morning if we sit here all night.” Morning was just four hours away. “I have a perfectly serviceable horizontal surface on which we will both be more comfortable.” Sam didn’t reply, but he could feel her thinking, trying to work out what it was he wanted. Lips pressed against her forehead, he whispered, “Trust me, Carter, all I want you to do is sleep.”

“Don’t know if I can.” It was the first coherent sentence she had put together since arriving at his door.

Shifting, Jack got Sam to swing around and put her feet on the floor. He stretched kinked muscles and then urged her up, a guiding arm around her shoulders. “Then lie comfortably horizontal. No one’s asking you to do anything that you don’t want to for the next few hours.”

When she was seated on the far side of his bed, Jack knelt at her feet, slipping shoes and socks off, his hands caressing firmly, offering only comfort. He rose, she remained sitting, seemingly frozen. Jack turned to his dresser, pulled out a soft, worn tee and placed it beside her on the bed.

Leaning over to kiss her gently on the crown of her head, he squeezed her shoulder. “Change your shirt, Carter, and get under the covers. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Jack grabbed his phone from his side of the bed and pulled the bedroom door nearly shut behind him. Just before he closed the crack, Jack glanced back at Sam. She was still sitting at the side of the bed and Jack’s heart clenched for her pain.

In the kitchen, he filled a tall glass with water, had a drink from the tap himself, and then leant against the counter to text Walter.

_Not urgent. Will not be in until at least 10 am. Helping Carter with funeral arrangements. Will update when I know more._

Hitting send with a murmured an apology for waking Walter at 2 am, Jack let his phone snap closed. It was almost the truth and, most likely, would be how he spent his morning. But at least he didn’t have to drag himself out of bed and to the base at 0600.

Carrying the glass back with him, Jack tapped on his bedroom door and, when there was no answer, turned the handle and looked cautiously inside. Sam was under the covers, her back to him. Folded on his dresser were the clothes she had worn to his house.

With a jolt of recognition, he remembered that was what Sam had worn home from the base. Home for six or seven hours, no comfort from Pete, maybe, and then on his own doorstep with unshed tears. Jack wished he knew what had transpired between her departure from the mountain and the knock at his front door, but he refused to ask her just to satisfy his own curiosity. Not tonight.

Jack sat down on his side of the bed and then realised he still had the glass of water in hand. He reached over Sam and placed it on the bedside table and then eased beneath the covers. Reaching for the bedside lamp, he clicked it off. As if the darkness had been a signal, he felt Sam turn and curl into his side. With a shift of his arm, Jack let her rest her cheek on his shoulder. Whatever it was she needed from him, he let her take.

 

* * *

 

Jack must have dozed and, in that weird way that works with babies and small animals, his sleep had nudged Sam into her own. A glance at his clock told him that it was 0558, his usual waking time. Careful not to disturb Sam, he flicked the alarm to the off position. And then he laid as still as if he were Black Ops again, his mind half alert, the other half wandering as he filled the time until Sam woke.

Ten minutes had passed before he realised how very tired she must be. Like Jack, Sam’s internal clock usually woke her early, her alarm set just as backup. They had even developed a kind of synchronicity when in the field, the sound of her first movements in the morning as good as any alarm. Jack knew that, had they been off world, there was no way she would still be asleep at this hour if he were awake.

Despite the grief that he too felt for the loss of Jacob Carter, Jack’s chest slowly filled with warmth. Sam had sought refuge in him, had been pulled to him like a compass points north and then had let him take her to bed, secure in her trust that he would offer her nothing but the comfort that she needed.

Indulging himself, Jack stroked Sam’s wrist where it rested on his chest and then made to slide his fingers between hers until he felt the hard corner of the gem beneath his finger tip. He pulled back sharply and then forced his body to relax again, steadied his breathing. Counting the slow breaths, Jack let his hand come to rest on the waistband of his sweats, far away from the pointed reminder that Sam had promised herself to another.

Damnit. Eyes pricking, throat constricting, he turned his head away. It was just the intensity of the past few days. The thing with Kerry that he knew was just a stopgap, yet it had been a pleasant refuge. And then Carter, suddenly on his deck, confronted with his weakness and no time to explain. And then their phones ringing and the rush back to the mountain. The regretful words shared with Kerry - and the knowledge that he had, yet again, hurt a woman who in no way deserved it - and her graceful goodbye.

And then Jacob. Jacob who was a General and a father and a centuries old Tok’ra and who saw through him and into Sam as clearly as if he had been blended with them. Jacob was family, by the simple act of being the father of the woman Jack loved. All the jibes and the barbed words of advice, delivered as a military man of his generation would, had found their way inside Jack and shaped him, turned him, caused him to move closer to the man that Samantha Carter needed him to be. He knew those last words weren’t Selmak’s - Selmak was already gone - but they could have been.

_“You’ve got to know, how proud I am of you.” Jacob’s lips were cracked and dry and Jack had to lean close to catch his words._

_Jack’s brow furrowed, “Of Sam,” he corrected._

_“Of you,” Jacob said, emphatically before he had to stop to catch his breath. “I thought you were some delinquent stick jockey when we met at, at that thing ...”_

_“The Air Medal award ceremony?” Jack couldn’t help reminding._

_“Yeah, that. Delinquent out to destroy my daughter’s career. But then, I got a second chance with Selmak and she,” Jacob paused to lick his lips. “She gave me a lot of things, a lot of opportunities. To see my daughter save the galaxy. To see her with you, Jack, by her side.”_

_Jack resisted the urge to turn his head towards where Sam sat in the observation room. Jacob’s eyes remained fixed on him._

_“That’s where you belong, Jack. My girl needs you.”_

_Jack looked down at his hands. “I will always be there for her.”_

_“Jack.”_

_For a moment, General Jack O’Neill was nothing but the man in love with an old general’s daughter and he forced himself to look Jacob in the eye._

_“Maybe if her mother were still alive she would have been able to talk some sense into Sam. The cop’s not who she needs, not who she deserves. Help her get this right, Jack. Help her be happy. It’s all I will ever ask from you.”_

_Jack pressed his lips together until they lost their colour. “Sir ...” and he stopped, having no idea what to say. All the possible answers were catching in his throat._

_“There’s more to life than rules and regulations. You liked breaking them, once.” A stilted chuckle came from Jacob, one the dying man had to suppress before a coughing fit started again._

_“Sir,” Jack tried again. The words were going to choke him, he seemed unable to say a thing._

_Jacob raised his head, trying to lean closer. “If you won’t do it for me, do it for her.” Waiting until Jack nodded, Jacob let himself fall back against the pillows. “Good. Now, there are things I must do. You know what you need to do now?”_

_Jack rose and nodded. Even if Jacob hadn’t turned his eyes towards the observation window, Jack knew that was where he needed to be. “Clear skies and Godspeed, Sir,” he said, brushing Jacob’s hand with his own._

_“By her side, Jack.”_

_Jacob’s parting words followed him out into the corridor, as he trod the steps to the observation room, as he sat down and put his arm around her shoulders. By her side._

This time, Jack let the tears come. Just a few, just enough to acknowledge his own loss, his sorrow, before he needed to be Sam’s strength again.

His faced turned away from her, Jack didn’t see Sam’s eyes open. The pain in his throat, heartbeat rough in his ears, Jack didn’t feel Sam move until her hand stroked the curve of his cheek, stubble rasping with her touch.

“Jack.” His name was a soft thing, said gently, but this woman had the power to compel him to do anything. When her fingers urged him to turn, he did, despite wanting to shield her from his tears.

Swallowing, Jack greeted her with a cheery, “Hey,” or it would have been if the word hadn’t caught in his throat.

Sam’s fingers brushed over the tracks of his tears. Raised up on an elbow, her lips pressed against Jack’s skin tasting the salty sweet grief that they shared. Across both cheeks, along his nose, in the beginnings of a moustache until there was nowhere left to taste but his lips.

Jack held his breath as she touched him, afraid of what he might do, what she might, in this moment when they were both hurting so much. Her lips parted and he felt a featherlight brush of her tongue, once, twice. On the third, he let his lips relax and then she was exploring his mouth and he was still holding his breath, afraid to move.

Maybe Sam expected more of a reaction, because she cupped his cheek, hand pressing against his skin. There was an eye stabbing burst of light and Jack found himself squirming away, sliding out from under her, his eyes able to see only one thing, the diamond ring on her finger burning brightly in the morning sun.

Mouth open in surprise, Sam looked from Jack, to her left hand, where it pressed into the mattress, holding her up. She turned back to him, tilting her head. “Jack?”

His heart was thundering, there was a roaring in his ears. Jack hated to do it, but he needed a moment, just a moment, and so he turned away from her, letting his legs fall over the side of the bed. Oxygen was what he needed and so he got to his feet and tried to fill his lungs, to still the racing heart that might possibly be about to kill him.

“Jack?” Sam’s voice was louder, trying to break through whatever was going on with him.

Deep breaths and now his heart was slowing and Jack felt that he could finally turn, and ... “Hey,” he tried again, at least getting the whole syllable out this time.

Colonel Carter was in his bed, now, wearing his thread bare tee. She was there in expression, in stance and, almost, in Sam’s eyes. Sam lingered for a moment more before Carter blinked and the calm, calculating eyes of Carter, leader of SG-1, were all Jack could see.

Alright, if this was what she needed this morning, Jack could be her CO. “Time to get up. I’m going to put on coffee and make breakfast. You could shower, if you want. Guest bathroom has some of those little bottles of things you get from hotels.” Jack turned, not waiting for her acknowledgement and was almost out of the room before he turned back. “Whatever it is that you’ve got to do, want to do, today, I’m your guy.” Your guy, by your side. For just a moment, Jack wanted to hear Sam again, “Ok?”

Samantha Carter nodded and then gestured towards the guest bathroom, “I won’t be long.”

He nodded and turned and Jack O’Neill had no idea who she needed him to be now.

 

* * *

 

Fuck. Fuck the toaster, fuck the coffee maker, in fact, fuck everything. Toast. Coffee. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.

He slammed his hand down on the counter in frustration and then jumped at the gasp of surprise behind him. Turning, Jack took a moment to let the smell of freshly showered Samantha Carter wash over him. It helped to still his temper. “I, uh, thought that maybe toast or, or coffee,” he gestured at each appliance, “But the universe doesn’t agree.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Carter replied. But despite her words, she crossed the kitchen and began examining the toaster. Removing the two pieces of bread, she peered into the innards and then unplugged it and crossed to the sink. Upending the appliance, she shook vigorously, a shower of crumbs and dry bread corners falling into the basin. Plugging it back in and replacing the slices, Sam pressed down the lever and within moments the smell of warming bread wafted through the kitchen.

“Well, yes, I’d been meaning to do ...” Jack trailed off as the smartest woman on earth faced down his coffee maker. His money was not on the coffee maker.

Reaching for the cord, Sam pulled it from the wall, counted to ten under her breath and then plugged it back in. With a beep, the machine came back to life and began to grind the coffee beans.

Turning around, she leant back against the counter and looked at Jack.

“Machines just like you more,” Jack shrugged. “It’s something that I’ve come to accept.”

That got him a small smile and Jack relaxed a little, eyes still on Carter.

She rubbed her fingers over each other with staccato movements and then waited a moment. With a sudden tug, Sam pulled the ring on her left hand and twisted it off. Her hand closed over it, knuckles turning white, and she approached Jack, her closed hand between them.

The urge to ask her what was happening fought with the impulse to run away, far away, before the object she had clutched against her palm hurt him any more. Perfectly balanced indecision held Jack in place, unable to move his eyes from her hand.

“Jack.” Sam said his name, and then again, more insistently. He found himself unable to look away as she extended her hand to him and relaxed her fingers, as if meaning to drop the object held within.

Instinctively, Jack shot his hand out to catch it but then he was backing away, hand clutched against his chest as if he‘d just been burned. And maybe, a little voice said far in the back of his mind, maybe he had. Maybe he’d been burned months ago and was only now feeling the pain.

Sam watched him back away from her and that clinical voice named the emotions that ran across her face. Surprise, wonder, question, hurt, pain, anger, fury and, of course it was there, grief. Raging, tumultuous, thundering grief.

“You bastard. You fucking bastard. We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” Sam spat the words at Jack, each curse word hitting him like a slap.

Confusion washed over him, jamming his thoughts. “Then why are you yelling at me? You’re the one with the fiancé and the ring.”

“I don’t ... I haven’t ... I,” Sam pulled back her arm and Jack prepared to duck. Instead, she turned and flung the piece of jewellery across the kitchen and it sailed through the passthrough and in to the lounge. There was a single ting and then the offending object went to ground somewhere amongst Jack’s living room furniture.

“Sam?” Jack asked, beginning to step towards her, but the look on her face when she turned made him stop. There was a woman in his kitchen whom he had never met before. Wild, powerful and more than a little bit frightening, she opened her mouth to speak.

“How could you let his happen? Where were you, you fucking coward? Fucking? Is that the answer? Fucking Kerry? Fucking, fucking ...” she groped for names and settled for generalities, “Women? Fucking men?” She slapped her hands against her chest. “I thought we had something, Jack. Something real, worth fighting for. But you, you just let me go on. Go on fucking Pete. Fucking fucking Pete like a fucking Stepford wife who’s going to have a nice little house with a nice little fence and a nice little dog. A fucking dog! That’s _our_ dream, the one we had and you,” She pulled herself up to her full height, jabbing a finger in Jack’s direction, “You ceded it to him!”

Jack groped for words, for actions. He was trained as a man of action, for heaven’s sake. But there had been no training for this, no training for how to watch - or prevent - his failure to protect Sam, even from herself.

“He’s gone, Jack,” and her voice tore at his insides, the plaintive sorrow worse, far worse, than any yelling or cussing at him could be. “He’s gone and he’ll never know. Never know. Never.”

This, this he thought he might be able to do something about and Jack began moving, his hands taking Sam’s weight as she began to collapse, easing her to the floor.

“He thought I was marrying Pete. I left it too late. And why, how could you let that happen? He’ll never know that I chose you in the end.”

Jack cupped her face and pulled her forehead to his, his fingers ceaselessly caressing. “He knows, Sam. He knows.”

Sam shook her head, but Jack stilled her motion with his hands. “How? How can you know?” She asked.

“He told me, Sam. Made me promise to ...” and here, Jack stumbled, because Sam had just said that she chose him and yet she had also been raging, a woman warrior, one Ishta would be proud to have in the Hak’tyl. It scared him, more than a little, to have that fury turned on him and he felt vulnerable in the face of it.

“He made me promise to do whatever I could to ...” Jack faltered as those blue eyes turned up towards him and dragged him into their depths. “To do whatever I could to be by your side. To make you happy, Sam. He saw it clearer than either of us.”

The last of the fury washed from her face and Sam crumpled, boneless in his lap, curling half on him, half on the floor. He thought that she might be crying, but when his fingers stroked her cheek, there was the clench of her jaw, a fist pressed tightly to her lips and Jack thought that maybe she was holding back a scream.

Awkwardly, and with many pops of joints and cracks of pain, Jack got to his feet and lifted Sam from the floor. Still curled silently around her pain, Jack carried her to his bed, lay her down and then wrapped himself around her, legs, arms, anything he could do that would let her feel his weight and his willingness to be the shield between her and the world. 

 

* * *

 

The sun crept across the room until the bed was in shade, again, the beams falling in the narrow patch of carpet between bed and window.

Jack thought that maybe Sam slept and that he could slip away to the bathroom for a few moments to relieve his bladder. He was almost off the bed when she reached for him and he paused, gently brushing fingers through her hair. “Two minutes, I promise.” Sam’s eyes never opened, but she nodded and Jack sought his relief.

Leaving his sweats behind, Jack slid back into bed, his bare legs wrapping again around Sam’s as she burrowed into his shoulder. Arms around her, Jack rubbed slowly at her back and felt her sigh against his neck. He kept up the touch, running over Sam’s back, shoulders and arms. Given time, she began to uncurl and Jack’s hands could travel elsewhere - sides, hips, thighs. As he considered whether running his hand over her behind would be a step too far, he jumped at a sudden wet sensation against his neck.

The smell of him, his warmth, his sweat, his soap, was all she could think of. And then it was his touch, anywhere he could reach. At first it eased her, coaxed her muscles to relax, her nerves to rest, her body to surrender to softness and comfort.

And then Sam became aware of other things. The way his hands on her thighs made the lips of her vulva ache, how his toes curled against the back of her calf seemed disproportionally intimate and how very, very much she wanted to know what he tasted like. She wanted to know if he was salty or bitter, if his taste would make her tongue tingle or her mouth water or her sex wet with want.

So, she licked him. On his neck, right above his collar bone. Jack went tense and so she licked him again, and then gently nuzzled, before kissing her way to his throat, brushing her lips over his adam’s apple, feeling the beginning of his stubble. Sam’s lips worked upwards, and Jack tipped his chin, tightening the skin below it and so she gave a tentative bite, holding his skin between her teeth, letting the flesh scrape and stretch as she pulled away.

With lips to his neck, Sam both felt and heard the grunt that Jack tried to smother. Sam noticed other things, his toes digging tightly into her calves, his hand softly squeezing her behind and the involuntary rocking, the barest movements, of his hips.

Jack groaned as her kisses trailed along his jaw, finally returning to his lips. At her feathered touch, Jack opened for her and let her tongue explore. When he continued to lay passive beneath her lips, Sam reached for his shirt, finding the hem and sliding her hand up his chest until her fingers found a nipple. Swiping his tongue with hers, Sam flicked his nipple in synch with her strokes.

The shudder of his response ran from Jack’s mouth to his toes, forcing him into action. Jack made to pull back, intending to put distance between Sam and his growing erection, but her hand slid to his side and her mouth followed his.

“Want you,” Sam whispered against Jack’s lips and he paused.

Want her? Of course he wanted her. But there was also her heightened emotional state. Hell, his heightened emotional state. Jack moved his hand from her behind to the small of her back. “Sam, there’s no rush.”

“Not rushing,” Sam told him, her hand wandering to the waist of his boxers, fingers wriggling beneath the fabric, finding the curve of his ass and - oh - the way her fingers were trailing across his skin ... “Eight years is not rushing. The very opposite of rushing. That was slow-ing ...” she murmured, lips brushing over his skin, talking all the while. “Crawl-ing, snail-ing, molasses-ing.”

“Sam,” Jack sighed, “You can’t just go making up words like that.”

That elicited a soft snort. “I’m inventing whole fields of physics. Making up words is my bread and butter.” And then she wasn’t talking anymore, instead her teeth were digging into the cords of his neck and the slowly building erection between them was suddenly rock hard.

“Sam,” Jack said, this time insistent.

She pressed her forehead into his neck and shivered. “Please, Jack. I’m so tightly wound that it hurts.”

Jack closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her head while he thought. “Protection,” he finally said.

“Needed. This time.”

“Ok,” and with that Jack accepted that this was happening and neither of them was doing so without forethought. “What do you want me to ...” he trailed off, not having a bedroom vocabulary in common with her, yet. He supplemented with his hands, found the place where the shirt she was wearing ended and explored the skin beneath it.

“Hold me, weigh me down. Slow and ... deep.” Sam felt herself pulse with arousal as she put words to her need. “ _Please_.”

The need in her whisper released something that had been coiled inside him and Jack shifted them both, pushing Sam fully on to her back and let his weight rest on her legs and hips.

“Like this?” Jack asked, rocking against her thigh, knowing there was no mistaking his erection.

She let go of a whimper, edged with pain, but the return thrust of her hips reassured him. “More,” Sam urged.

Letting his knees take more of his weight, Jack pulled up enough to slide Sam’s shirt up her sides and tug it over her head. Leaving the fabric tangled around her wrists, he held her arms still with one hand. Jack dipped his mouth to her breast, licking and sucking her soft flesh, making passes over her nipple, but avoiding any firm encouragement until it was puckered and firm and Sam was pushing her chest eagerly toward him.

Sam moved to slip her hands free but Jack put a twist in the fabric that held them in place, his tongue working over over her nipple without interruption. The little growl she made in response had him actively rubbing his erection against her thigh.

“Touch me. Pinch me, Jack. Your hand, I need it.”

With a slow swipe of his tongue, Jack paused in his ministrations. “Ask nicely.” He waited for her response, watching Sam chew her bottom lip. Jack worried he had taken her willingness to surrender some control too far and he was about to move his hand to her other breast when she spoke.

“ _Please_ ,” Sam asked, her eyes closed. A shiver rippled through her and Jack could swear he smelled her, then, the smell growing stronger as her thighs rubbed together restlessly under his own.

Jack fully gave in to it, then, and moved his mouth where he wanted, learning her reactions and responding to her murmurs, more pleases rolling off her tongue.

He could smell Sam, he was sure now, and knew that he didn’t need to slide his fingers between her lips to gauge how slick and ready she might be. Jack released her, pulling his hands firmly down her arms until his palms rested against her rib cage, a hand on either side.

“Sam, just for now, for this time, I want you to ask me. What do you want me to do?” He was holding his head and shoulders up, watching her face. Gods, she was beautiful, flushed, her in disarray, her skin rosy with arousal, her nipples dark and tight, thoroughly sucked under his lips.

And then there was a flash of Colonel Carter and damnit if that didn’t put his motor into top gear. “I want you in me, Jack, take me slowly, then fuck me hard.”

He let Sam see the fire her words roused in him and then he tempered it, pressing his lips to her sternum and replying, “As you wish.”

With soft touches and caresses Jack slid her underwear down her legs, then paused to do the same with his boxers. Returning, he laid kisses on pale skin from ankle to hip. He briefly nuzzled the hair between her legs, breathed deep of her smell and then kissed her, just once. “I’ll be back for you later,” he whispered and Sam responded with a giggle.

Noted. Making Sam giggle was now high on his list of bedside priorities.

Jack reached across her, sliding the drawer of the bedside table open and fumbling until he could grasp a little foil packet. Pausing above her, Jack offered Sam the condom, but she shook her head in response.

“I want to watch.”

It’s not like Jack ever thought sex with Sam would be boring, but he was realising, hard and fast, that there was potential for things to be explosive. Rolling the condom along his length, he revelled in how hard he was, how much he was already aching to slide inside the wonderful woman before him.

Sam watched Jack roll the latex along his length and then lazily pulled one knee up and to the side, repeating the motion with the other. She felt his gaze on her intensify, following the line of her thigh from knee to groin and to the open lips before him. Normally, men gazing at her made her uncomfortable, but there was a reverence in Jack’s expression that made her feel exalted.

With a wriggle, Jack got into position and then paused, one hand on the bed, the other on her hip. “Sam.” He waited for her to look at him. “I love you.”

Warm fingers brushed over his and Sam’s expression sobered and there was a flutter of pain there and then it was gone. “I love you, Jack.”

A nod of acknowledgement and then Jack was grasping her hand, moving it from her hip to press into the mattress as he moved. He was there, hard against her lips, she could feel him press against her. Jack waited and she knew what he wanted. “ _Please_ ,” she asked, for the last time, and he slid slowly in to her in response.

The sensations were so intense that Sam wanted to close her eyes against them, but there was no way she would miss watching Jack’s face. Suffused with adoration and ecstasy, a groan rumbled in his chest as he found her full depth. Just as requested, he let his weight gradually settle over her, finding her other hand, pressing it too into the mattress. With his mouth he kissed her slowly and then, lips still on hers, pulled his hips up a ways and then let himself fall back into her.

There was little to do but let the touch of skin on skin and the slow movements of hips and mouth gradually take them over. First, Sam let out soft whimpers, Jack savouring each one, moving within her until the whimpers became moans, joined with little twitches of need. Her hips, her fingers, her neck, knee and calf, each one a signal urging him on until he felt the trembling of her inner muscles around him.

Jack kept their rhythm but broke their kiss, lips making their way along her neck until they could toy with her ear lobe. “How about you come for me, Samantha? I feel you, so close. What would it take to bring you all the way? A squeeze?” And Jack gripped her hands tighter as he used the leverage to push her deeper into the mattress.

“A bite? My teeth on your skin?” Sam turned her head for him, offering Jack the smooth skin of her neck and he eagerly put his teeth to her. Nibbling, he worried the flesh until he suddenly clamped down on her and sucked until he felt her clench hard around his erection.

“Nice,” Jack observed, “What about it, Samantha? Want to come for me so I can take your harder? Drive your body into the mattress, take you so thoroughly that you still feel me in you tonight?” A thrust of his hips in time with his words and Sam moaned, gasped and then broke beneath him. Jack relaxed the hold on her hands, pressing himself into her at the hips, while tenderly kissing Sam’s neck, whispering, ‘beautiful’, ‘so sexy’ and ‘I love you’ over and over.

When her first orgasm subsided, Jack found her mouth and they kissed long and slow. When it ended, Jack pushed his shoulders up. “Phase Two?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

“Phase Two,” Sam confirmed and pulled her knees up. Recognising immediately what she wanted, Jack helped Sam hook her legs over his shoulders.

It started with a few short strokes, testing both their comfort and the depth. As the third thrust hit home, Sam moaned, “Oh, yes!” And Jack began to thrust into her in earnest.

As the intensity grew between them, Jack began to grunt with each stroke, Sam panting and urging him on. “Yes. So hard. More. More, don’t stop. _Don’tstopdont’stopdon’tstop_. Jackjack _oh god_. Oh god, yes!” That final, comprehensible word turned into a scream and Jack found himself thrusting uncontrollably until the orgasm rushed through him and he arched back, pulled blessedly taut and then released to fall softly atop his lover.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” Sam murmured, fingers stroking his hair over and over. She was still clumsy from her orgasm, but Jack didn’t care.

Too soon, he was soft and reached carefully for the condom as he slid from her. He was gone for a moment and then back, curling in to Sam, laying gentle kisses where his lips could reach, his hands holding her close. The last he remembered for a while was them both reaching for the comforter and pulling it over them, letting sleep drag them down.

 

* * *

 

Jack’s phone rang and he grizzled about it, reaching out with a hand, fumbling until he found it and flicking it open. Barely awake, Sam recognised Walter’s voice, but couldn’t focus enough to follow the conversation. Slipping back into her drowsy state, Jack’s hand shook her awake a few minutes later.

“If you’re able to get up, we should probably make plans for the rest of the day.”

She took a moment to bury her face in his neck, shaking her head.

“I know,” Jack whispered softly. “I’ll be with you, every step of the way.”

Jack left her curled up in their warmth and showered, glancing in on her briefly before shaving.

“Come now,” he said against her cheek, kissing her tenderly. “Now that the toaster and coffee maker work, we can breakfast.” Waiting until Sam was upright, Jack left her to dress while he made breakfast.

They ate toast and honey, sipping sweet, creamy coffee while leaning against the kitchen counter. Arm around her waist, Jack tried to keep his mind in the moment, feeling the new intimacy between them settle into his bones.

“I’m sorry. For yelling, for what I said, for what I called you.” Sam couldn’t look at him, instead she took a sip of coffee.

“Don’t,” Jack replied. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“I do, I need ...”

Jack cut her off. “You don’t.”

“ ... to explain,” Sam continued on, determined. “You at least need to know what happened when I went home last night.”

His fingers tightened on her waist in response. “Alright. Tell me.”

Pete had been waiting, blustering about, piling guilt and grief on Sam as he tried to arrange the funeral then and there.

“It was like the whole bloody wedding over again. My decisions, dad’s wishes, even what Mark needed, he tried to take it all from me.” Her body was tense in Jack’s embrace, like she wanted to pace up and down. “I hadn’t called Mark back, hadn’t worked out how to explain to him that there can’t be a coffin, hadn’t asked him about cremation, or, or ... whatever it is the Tok’ra say we should do.”

“He’d met dad once - once!” Now Sam did pull away, took three steps and turned back to Jack, flinging her arms wide as the frustrations of the weeks and months returned. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it anymore. I was losing myself, there would have been nothing of me left.” Her last words were a shout and Jack took a step toward her in response.

“It’s done, Jack,” Sam reached out with trembling hands. “He’s gone. Can you forgive me?”

He was on her, then, holding her tightly against him, his face rubbing in her hair.

“Always, Sam. Always.”


End file.
